Draven the Unbound
by Scholar Cobra
Summary: Follow the story of one of the Templars greatest threats, and once one of their own, Draven the Unbound.
1. A Boy and a Blade

**Please before reading this go check out Panthaboi. He has not only helped through the creative process but also has a tie in coming along. Again I advise you to read his context first so you have a better idea of character descriptions and lore. (also this part was a pain in the arse to write, seeming as it is clunky and you don't know the names till later) Hope you enjoy**

**Part 1: A Boy and a Blade**

The Raiders' axe came crashing into the boys' shield, causing him to fall. Dropplets of blood rolled down his face and he could feel his heart pounding in his ears. Clenching the grip of his sword, he slashed upwards at his aggressor and rose as he did. Rage filled his veins, urging him to go on, to keep fighting, to survive. Before the boy was killed by that wretched man, an arrow shot through the Raiders' throat and he collapsed, drowning in his own blood. The boy turned and saw a legion of knights all wearing the same emblem, a slanted red cross going through a golden crown. The Knights Templar. He had thought them to be a myth, but yet, they were here, before him, and they had just saved his life.

The boy looked at the massive army behind him. He felt like he had the whole support of that legion within him, like he was filled with their strength. He saw at the front of the legion a single Warden. He had armour of black steel which made him look like a pure absence of light. A spectre of death scouting the battleground. He raised his fist and held it for what felt like eons, but instead of releasing it quickly and pointing toward the battle, he simply lowered it and with a single nod of his head, the boy turned back around and pointed his blade to the Shard, screaming a single word, "Charge!!!"

The legion and the boy rushed forward, breaking through the first line of Viking and Samurai troops. Through it all the boy and the warden led the them, slowly but surely pushing the opposing forces back. It was a legendary battle, one that the Templars will never forget. Just before the battle reached its climax the boy and warden were seperated from the rest of the legion and were forced to fight through a small chokepoint to regroup. Both of them fought valiantly, slaying anyone who stood in their way.

Once the last of the scattered invasion force had been repelled and the boy was rested, the Warden approached him. "What is your name, squire."

"Draven, and I am no squire sir..."

The warden took off his helmet and set it down beside him, staring straight into the boys eyes, "Well, Draven, you are now. Pack your things, from now on you are my apprentice. I will teach you everything you need to know about our order, about our cause, about war, and in return you will fight amongst our finest men. You will become a Templar Knight!"

The warden walked away from the boy to give him time to think and entered the war party's tent and knelt before his leader, King. "My liege, we have found a warrior that may prove useful to our cause. He calls himself Draven and managed to hold strong against Ulfric, one of the viking thegns. I can tell you now, this boy is less than 20, and we can mould him into one of our best warriors."

"And who would train this warrior?"

The warden stood, "I, Aqua, Seneschal of the Knight Templar will!"

**Thanks for reading, leave a review and any other comments down below. This will be my first story about the Knights Templar and will be heavily connected to PanthaBois' story. Go check his stuff out for more context on the Templars and character descriptions for both Aqua and Honour!**


	2. Ascension

**Hello again, just a reminder to read Panthaboi again, gives more context and the stories are going to be in a coherent style, so reading both will help your understanding. Hope you enjoy!**

**Part 2: Ascension**

Roughly two weeks after the Blackstones last stand at the Shard, the Lord Warden gifted the Walled City to the Templars, a monument to show his gratification towards the Legion. Honour, Aqua and the rest of the Templar made the place their new home, a new start for them. They built upon the already magnificent city, turning it into a sprawling utopia. Here was where Draven would begin his training. Many of the Elders had suggested he take up the mantle of a Warden, from his exemplary skill with a sword. Once he had journeyed into the catacombs, he saw a graves' monument to a man with a long-sword and by his side, a kite shield. This is when he had chosen to become a Black Prior.

The sun shone through the small slit windows in the Squires communal bed chamber. Draven was the first to be awoken, images of war and death jostled for attention in his mind. He was still haunted from the moment an arrow had burst through Ulfrics throat, and the only thing he could see was the fear, the pure, inescapable fear that had gripped that man as he knew he was going to die. Draven looked at the reflection from his helmet. He saw a strong, toned man with jet black hair and dull brown eyes. His skin was mildly tanned from staying in the desert for nearly a year. It had just been his eight-teenth birthday and he was still a squire. The boy in the bed adjacent turned to face him and whispered, "Ready to get your arse beat again?". Draven merely smiled and looked down at the other man. "Hold your tongue, Edwin! You may think that Valencia will forbid me my ascension, but trust me, I won't fall this time."

"And that is exactly the same thing you said the past... five times...? Or was it six? My memory fails me!"

Edwin began to laugh as the both walked to seperate private chambers, carrying their armour and getting ready for the harsh day of training under the fury of the sun and their masters. Draven knew that he had to ascend to a Man-at-Arms but everytime he fought Valencia, he had lost. But this time he had a plan, and one that would both win the fight and impress his master.

Draven had just finished getting into his armour when a voice bellowed out, "When will you learn, boy!", Aqua slammed open the door to his quarters and approached him, "In actual fact I shouldn't be calling you boy, should I? Whilst I went on an expedition in Valkenhiem, you have reached your eight-teenth year and for what? I assumed that being in this legion for nearly a year would have given you ample time to become at least a Man-at-Arms, not still stuck as a Squire!", Draven looked up at Aqua and stayed silent. These outbursts of unbridled frustration were almost a daily occurrence. Aqua even threatening to remove him from the Legion a couple of times beforehand. "Who is it today, hmm? Oh, yes, that's right, you will be fighting Valencia! He has beaten you more times than I can recall. All because you are adamant you can withstand his shield bash. Draven, he is a Conquerer and a fine one at that. You know how to beat them so seize the opportunity."

"But what about what I am.", Draven calmly replied. "You always talk about people and the way they fight and how to best them... for a Warden. I am not a Warden am I? I use a shield and blade, meaning I am a-" Aqua grabbed him by the scruff of his neck "I do not care if you are a Black Prior, you have not mastered your Bulwark stance and without it you are just another foot soilder. By the end of this month, you will fight a Man-at-Arms. Win and you ascend, lose and...", Aqua trailed off and pushed him away. He walked away, silent, until he reached the door, "Do not make it that my training means nothing".

Draven trudged out into a sand smothered training ground, and picked up his sword and shield. Staring straight ahead of him, he saw Valencia. A powerhouse, built purely of muscle and steel, his armour seemed part of him. The combatants stood at the ready when both the seneschal and king of the Templars strode out. After a brief pause the king spoke, "Today, Draven, you not only fight for your honour, you fight for this legion. Valencia is no longer your friend, or your brother. He is but an obstacle in the way of your journey as a Templar. Remember what Aqua has taught you and may the greatest warrior win!"

Valencia started to swing his flail at his side, charging up an attack. He let fly and it smashed down unto Dravens' raised shield. Then it began, Valencia releasing a flurry of blows upon Draven, hitting him continously, wearing down his strength until, finally, Draven was struggling to hold his own. Valencia summoned all his strength into one final attack, a shield bash, which would knock him down and claim his victory.

Draven looked at his opponents feet and saw them shuffle forward a tiny bit, readjusting his stance so that he could end this fight, Draven followed suit and bid his time. At the last moment, just before the shield stuck him, he crouched, letting the conqueror push with all his might until Draven flipped him over his shoulder using a perfect Bulwark Counter and swirled around, pointing his crooked blade at the mans throat. "We are done here...", Draven muttered and Valencia threw away his shield and flail. Aqua and Honour stood at the side of the arena, in awe at what had happened. He was a Squire no more.

"As a Black Prior, you are not only promoted, but you have ascended also.", Aqua remarked, "Meaning that you must endure one more test. Are you willing to do this?". Both master and apprentice were now in the catacombs, infront of them a statue of Vortiger, the leader of that order. "What must I do?", Aqua turned to him and produced an ornimental dagger. "You must recieve your mark...". A procession of cloaked figures entered he chamber, two of them grabbing Draven by the arms and forcing him to his knees. An old man grabbed him by his hair and then took the dagger from Aqua. "What is this? Let me go! What have I done to deserve to die?!" The elder looked at him and snarled, "Quiet. Hold still." The man carefully scratched a mark of The Priors into Dravens forehead, a circle with lines at regular intervals.

Draven screamed, as dropplets of blood trickled down his face. And infront of him, a mirage had consumed the old man and the chamber. He saw the Vikings that had killed his family and carving the mark into his flesh was a spectre of Ulfric. Dravens unconscious body slumped to the floor and the Priors walked out. Aqua picked the him up, and began carrying him up to the church. He then looked down at his apprentice and whispered, "I'm sorry..."

**Again, thank you so much for reading this, part 3 will come out as soon as it's ready. Hope you enjoyed and see you next time!**


	3. Citadel Gate

Part 3: Citadel Gate

Valencia stood at the end of the table, each of the chairs held each of his warriors. The most notable two were the Man-at-Arms Draven, and his friend, Edwin. "Aqua has provided us with new mission details. We are to escort a band of merchants across to the Citadel, but due to the recent bandit attacks, the path we take will be secluded. Most of it is just a woodland path, but part of it will pass through an abandoned Viking territory, the Canyon. Once we have made safe passage we will inform the lords at the Citadel of the rising threat, and if needed we shall ask for reinforcments and supplies for the journey back. Any questions?... Good. We set out tomorrow, at sunrise". Valencia walked out of the sparcely populated mess hall leaving Draven, Edwin, a handfull of foot-soilders and the new Squire, Leah. She was a Warden who was new to not only to the Templars, but to the concept of war itself, deciding to pick up a blade when her settlement was attacked by Samurai bandits. Wearing not even real Warden armour, just basic leather and steel armour she seemed a bit wreckless, but her skill at fighting was extremely impressive, managing to beat Valencia the first time she fought him, even if she beat him with unconventional methods, including picking up a decently sized rock and throwing at his head.

"So, first mission for all of us? How you feeling Draven?", Edwin looked ecstatic. "I'm fine. Just hope everything goes OK."he looked away fron Edwin and carried on starring at his feet. Wondering about the events that had happened last night he ran it over and over again in his mind. Catacombs, dagger, Ulfric and... nothing. The same three things flashed in and out his mind. Until a fourth joined them. A symbol, one of an ancient order. One that he could feel as he ran his fingers across the wound, etched into his flesh, his very being. Something had happened to him, but he couldn't recall what. After Edwin had finished his meal, he bid the others farewell. The other footmen slowly fell away, heading to bed, until all that remained was Draven and Leah. "You're a quiet one aren't you? What's your name?" Leah asked, clearly faking her intrest in the subject."You already know it.", Draven smirked as he looked up at her and spoke again, "But if you want to hear it again, m'lady, it's Draven".

"Draven, hmm? Intersting name... M'lord." They both began to laugh at the comment.

Once they had finished joking with each other, they began to tell of their lives before joining the Legion. Leah talked about how her life was never a struggle, having a decent enough upbringing, being an only child in a well respected household of traders. It all changed when Samurai had attacked her home and her father had been killed. She picked up the families heirloom, an ancient wardens sword and travelled to the Walled City to join a worthy cause. Draven told her of the battle he had witnessed. The Vikings didn't stop until everything had been burnt to the ground. Everyone had died except him, the Blackstone Legion had scouted the area and found him, hiding near to his old house, craddling his brothers body. He remained a civilian until Holden Cross left to become part of the Iron Legion, choosing to follow him instead of staying with Appolyon and her so called wolves. He remembers training as a footsoilder to storm the Shard, to give his life to ensure the victory that day. He recalled how he would have died if not for the Templars, and felt it his duty to help them, deciding to train as a warrior. To give his life to their cause, instead of going back to the senseless mediocrity of being another civilian, whilst the world around him burned. He didn't want to feel helpless, he'd known that feeling for far too long.

That night, Draven was plagued by the memories of his old life, one he swore he would forget. He drifted off to sleep and saw his brother, decayed with his stomach slit wide open. "Why", it croaked, "Why did you let it happen". Draven stared at the spectre as a figure approached it from behind. Ulfric with a bloodied meat knife in his hand, the arrow still lodged through his throat. Ulfric spoke, "You've avenged your brother, but it changes nothing. You can't save him".

Draven sat bolt upright, a sheen of sweat covered him from head to toe. He washed himself, dressed in his armour and headed to the mess hall. Edwin was already there, sat next to his Gladius and helmet. It had a blank, expressionless visage on the face plate. He stood and greeted Draven, "You're up early. Valencia will come down soon, give us a brief of the exact route we'll be taking.", he slid a goblet of mead over to Draven.

"You know I don't dr-", he was cut off before he could finish

"Come on, one drink won't hurt you, and it is our first ever expedition outside the Walled City, special occasion deserves a celebration"

"Edwin, I don't know where you come from, but I'm certain that the celebration comes after the job's done.", Draven looked at Edwin, picked up the goblet and drank the sweet yet bitter liquid within. Valencia and Leah joined them and so did the merchants. "We will take the main road down until we reach the Dragons Chasm, which is situated here.", he pointed inbetween two mountains, "Usually we would head East, directly to the Citadel, but we are going to travel North towards Valkenhiem, reach the Canyon, then we will head South West, cutting down to the Citadel from there. Get your supplies, then we leave."

The travel to Dragons Chasm took the group to midday, which was shorter than expected, so Valencia decided to move onwards toward the Canyon. As the horses trudged through the forest, Draven heard a twig snap. Scanning the area for anyone, he saw a silhouette in the distance and drew his sword. It moved towards him and revealed itself to be a teenage boy, with a fabric face mask and leather clothing. Probably a bandit. Possibly not. "How long have you been following us, boy?", Valencia shouted to him. The boy stayed silent. "Are you lost?" The boy stayed silent and both Edwin and Leah dismounted from their steeds. "I don't like this." Draven whispered to Valencia. "We are in an open woodland area, he could be a scout, leading us into an ambush". The boy turned and began walking back into the forest and Leah started to pursue him. "Are you alri-" An arrow whizzed through the air and landed in her shoulder. She lurched, stumbling back towards the cart and another one dug itself into her stomach, then another in her chest. She fell backwards and her eyes rolled upwards. Blood flowed from her mouth as she began choking and twitching and writhing in the blood soaked soil. "Rally to me!!!" Draven yelled as more arrows began flyng out of the foliage and into his and Valencias' shields. The arrows ceased and twenty bandits ran out from the trees and began to attack the cart and the merchants. Draven twirled around, slashing his sword at one of the fiends, cutting into his chest. He rammed his shield into anothers chest and began pushing back a third when a fourth came up behind him, cutting his back and his leg. Draven stumbled and fell when, like an enraged bull, Valencia smashed into one of the bandits, shattering his jaw. He whirled his flail, smacking another in the chest and helped Draven back up to his feet. Draven looked over at Edwin, who was fighting off another bandit, when a Highlander came up behind him and impaled the man with his claymore. Edwin grabbed the blade that had plunged through his back and out his chest. The Highlander wrentched the blade from the red chasm in the mans' chest before he and his assailants made away with the cart and it's contents. Draven rushed to Edwin, but he had already succumbed to his wounds. He looked up at Valencia, tears brimming in his eyes. Valencias' face turned to stone as he noticed the dagger that pointed out from Dravens side. A red stain slowly began to spread across his lower abdomen. Draven spoke, "What...now...?"

**Hello, hope you enjoyed the story. I know where I want the story to go so I'm just going to keep writing as much as I can. Things get a lot darker from here, going a bit more Game of Thrones-y as it makes the story much more interesting. Hopefully I get part 4 finished soon, but I don't want to rush ahead too much, as I'm trying to write in tandem with Panthaboi. ****Thanks for reading, it truly does mean a lot!**


	4. The Beaten Path

**Before this chapter starts, I just want to thank everyone in the community and my friends ouside of it for the support they have shown me. It really does mean a lot, so I'm ****greatfull for it. Hope you enj****oy!**

**Part 4: The Beaten Path**

Draven and his brother, Marcus, walked through the sparsely populated streets, kicking at the gravel in boredom. "When are you due to join the Blackstone Legion again Draven? I think they're coming later for a recruitment campaign!", Marcus probed.

"Never. How many times do I have to explain, the war will be over before you know it. There is no point joining a conflict that will soon be resolved!"

"But Draven, think of all the cool stories you'd be able to tell me when you get back!", the young boy protested. Both of the boys had always wanted to join a legion, and now his brother was of age, he kept refusing to consider the idea all together. They went through the town until they reached a small clearing, a moor with uncultivated wheat covering the area. Draven lifted up a hollow log and under it were two wooden poles with leather strips covering a lower portion of it, and above, a wooden cross-guard.

After Draven had taught his younger sibling more swordplay and how to parry attacks, he glanced over he golden crop that spread out in front of him, and saw a large group of people travelling down the beaten path leading to the village. "Hey look! It's the Blackstones! C'mon Draven, you gotta join them!", Marcus ran through the wheat and back to the town and Draven tailed him. Every now and then he would glance back along that beaten path as the shadows approached the village. For a reason unknown to him, Draven couldn't shake a feeling of fear as he saw the army of shadows marching toward the village.

As they arrived back in the streets they began the short walk back to their house. Then came the infernal racket. A cacophony of drums, horns, growls and grunts. Vikings. Draven glanced across to Marcus and darted over to him, picking him up off his feet and running towards their house. They saw Vikings rushing into every street, bludgeoning and maiming and killing all they came across. That's when he saw him. A raider, with a skull attached to the front of his helm, forming a face plate. That Viking was Jarl Ulfric, one of the most ruthless and unforgiving of the Warborn. "Leave no-one alive! Men, women, even children! Crush the filthy scum!" As he said this, he picked up Dravens' father with one hand and began to crush his throat, before throwing him into a burning house. Marcus and Draven ran back into a side road, both of them fighting to hold back the tears. They went to run back into their golden field, but as soon as they reached it, they that the Warborn were seeping through their as well. Draven then led his brother back into the street, and whilst no one seemed to occupy the street, they ran straight through and into the house. He went through the draws and grabbed two carving knifes and handed one to his brother. "Hide under the bed and I'll hide in the closet next to it. Only use this," He waved the knife around, "As a last resort." Marcus nodded and ran upstairs with Draven and they both saw the body of their mother, several stab wounds dotted around her torso. They were frozen with fear, until the door of the house was kicked down by a Viking Warlord...

Both of the boys hid in their allocated spots as they heard doors being opened followed by footsteps. They heard the belts and buckles of the mans armour clash together as he strutted around the building. Draven looked through the crack in the closet door and saw his brother shaking under the table. He heard the creak of wood and clash of metal as the Warlord began to embark upstairs, then it stopped. He'd reached the top and as soon as he did, he marched over to the bed and flipped it over. Before the Viking could do anything else, Draven burst out of the closet and leaped onto his back, thrusting the dagger into the exposed flesh of his neck, whilst keeping a firm grip on the vikings mouth, so his screams were muffled to the rest of the coup. Both the boys rushed down the stairs and out of the house, running down the street when the Jarl stepped out and let Marcus run straight into him. He then took out his gut knife, and stabbed the boy, then dragged the knife across his abdomen, opening his stomach and his innards fell out. Ulfric dropped the corpse to the ground and walked towards Draven. He simply looked at him and said, "When the Blackstones come, tell them of what happened. Tell them every detail. Tell them...we are coming." Ulfric smacked Draven with the blunt of his axe and called the rest of the Vikings. They left as Draven clawed his way to his brothers cold body, cradling him and looking into his bloodfilled eyes.

Draven looked at the several merchant bodies scattered around the forest floor, blood splattered over ferns and trees. Glancing over, Leahs body was now at rest. Still and peacefull. Then he looked down at Edwin, into his open, bloodfilled eyes. He tore the dagger from his side and Valencia wrapped a mixture of his sleeve and remaints of a merchants' cloak. "I've failed them. I let them die. I could have...", Draven choked on he last words and tears began to fall onto Edwins armour. "It's not your fault Draven. We were heavily outnumbered, at least four men to one. We didn't stand a chance."  
"Then tell me this, if we stood no chance why are we not dead, hmm?" Dravens' eyes lit up with a rage Valencia had never before witnessed. "Why did they die, but we were blessed to live? For Gods sake, answer me!" But Valencia did not answer. He didn't know how to, instead just stared into Dravens wild eyes, wondering what would cause him to act like this. "Why did Marcus die and not me." Draven slumped, the rage in his eyes replaced with sadness. He looked down the rows of trees, down the path they had taken and saw three steelclad warriors, and one at the side who seemed to be wearing civilian clothes. No, not civilian, chain-mail and leather and fur and bone... A Viking.

Draven starred at the group and recognized the emblem they wore as that of the Templar, so he was disturbed by the prospect of a Viking, a Warborn, would be accepted into their ranks. He was disgusted. The leader of the group, Cain, approached the duo and disapprovingly looked at Valencia. "Well, this is embarrassing isn't it? To think that you could go against Aquas' judgement, and then you go and get two Man-at-Arms, some merchants and a squadron of footsoilders killed!" Cain shoved Valencia, and glanced over at Draven, whose face was crestfallen and riddled with confusion. "Oh, this really is outstanding! He didn't tell you, did he? Great, bloody brilliant in fact! Get on your horses, we ride to the Dragons Chasm and camp there for the night." Cain turned and mounted whilst the others did as well. Draven mounted and a knight he had seen a handful of times around the city, Titanium whispered "Don't worry about him, he gets a tad bit heated in situations like this. Once we get to the Chasm, I'll explain everything."

Cain led the pack and the others followed suit. Draven couldn't stop staring at the Viking. Maybe it was blood loss, making him hallucinate. Maybe it was adrenaline, clouding his mind. Or maybe, just maybe, nothing was wrong, that a Viking, a wretched Viking had joined the Templar, after everything they had done to them. As they rode up to Dragons Chasm, Draven kept thinking of the events that had transpired earlier. He remembered the look in Leahs eyes as she tumbled over. The look of surprise on Edwins face as a steel blade erupted from his chest. He would have his vengeance. As they approached Dragons Chasm, Cain looked back and raised his voice over the howling winds, "When we get there, I want camp set up quickly. We must get back to the Walled City as soon as possible. I would continue riding, but our new acquaintance," he gestured to Draven, "seems to have sustained quite a nasty wound. He needs to rest."

At Dragons Chasm, the group set up camp almost immediately. Haymaker and Titanium broke off from the group and began to talk, whilst Cain, Draven, Valencia and Paragon were left around the camp fire. Cain ordered that Valencia be shackled and gagged to stop him from causing a ruckus. "So, Cain, is it?" Draven murmured.  
"Yes, and you are... Draven... if my memory serves me well."  
"How did you-", Before Draven could finish his sentence, he remembered the taboo of him being a Squire for nearly a year. Everyone knew his name for that of course. "I truly am sorry for your friends. I know that you were starting to settle and had made acquaintance with the both of them", Cain glanced over to Valencia, "if it weren't for this bastard, they would still be with us."

"If it weren't for that bastard, I'd be with them now." Draven stared at Cain and gave a soft smile, "Tell me... What will happen when he gets to the Walled City?" The fire crackled in the brief moment of silence, until Cain finally spoke. "Well, if he's lucky, he'll be executed. If not, he'll be exiled. You see, Valencia here was a degenerate before we moulded him into what he is now. A vagrant on the verge of death, what he was when we found him. Found a use for him and he repays it by getting several of our men killed for no good reason. We let him go and he is back down that slippery slope again." Draven looked at Cain the fire gleaming in his eyes. "Don't let that happen. I know Valencia well enough to know how much he is worth to this legion. You exile him and I'll go too. You kill him, you'll go through me first."

Cain stared Draven down and the burst out laughing. "You really are a strange one aren't you?" He then turned to Paragon and began whispering to him. Paragon simply smirked and went back to staring into space. "Trust me, we know how valuable he is. He just doesn't follow orders and in a legion like this, that's a very dangerous thing to do. Many people have become corrupt or have just blatantly disobeyed Honour." Cain rose, and grabbed Valencia by his shackles "Lets go for a walk then, shall we? You two stay here and look after camp." Draven looked at Paragon and stayed silent. The desert winds battered them and the only sound they could hear was the howl of nature, as it carved its way through the sand. Draven looked at Paragon and began to speak, "You're looking unwell, you OK?" Paragon looked up at him and gave him an extremely weak smile. "I'm not one to lie. I'm uneasy about Haymaker..."  
"How so? I'm not disagreeing with your statement. Vikings are vile, uncivilized beasts. They took my family from me. I swear, she steps out of line, I'll gladly take my blade to her throat..." Paragon looked at Draven as if he had just read his mind. He hated them as much as his companion, if not for better reason. When on an expedition, mapping out a new settlement and trying to populate it, his wife and daughter were kidnapped by a Group of Vikings, The Insatiable. They were lead by a Shaman known as Grendel, infamous for being able to convert a normal person into an Apostle of her clan. When his daughter and wife were taken from him, he searched far and wide, finally finding his wifes' body, chunks of flesh missing from it. But what was worse is that once he had reached the next village, a lone Shaman was attacking people, dragging them off into the woods and eating them alive. He had to kill that Shaman. It was his daughter.

Titanium, Haymaker, Cain and Valencia arrived back at camp and they all rested for the night. In the morning they rode through the desert, Paragon lightening the mood, whilst most stayed silent or smirked at his sarcastic comments. As they came up on the high dunes Cains' jaw dropped as he saw an obelisk of smoke rising from the Walled City, reaching for the sky like a serpent. And amongst that colossal wreck, they all saw a horde of Warborn charging through the first gate. The Battle for The Grail had begun...

* * *

**Oh my, this was a CENSORED, NASTY WORDS BEHIND THIS to write. One day I will re read this and ****legitimately**** cry because of how long its taken, and how (i believe) bad it is compared to the other chapters. Now I've got this CENSORED out of the way, imma focus ****purely**** on part 5. Hope you enjoyed and we'll get back to the good stuff next time. YEEEEEEEET**


	5. Army of Hell

**Part 5: Army of Hell**

Inside the Walled City, there stood a sixteen year old boy, a scimitar in one of each bruised and bloodied hand. His name was Samael, wearing beige cloth trousers, steel plated shin guards and boots. His chest piece was not present, and to anyone looking, it was not impressive. He had little muscle definition, his skin stretched taught over his ribs, a sheen of sweat glistened from his chest, face and arms. Panting, his uncle looked at him and shouted, "Again!". Samael darted inwards toward his opponent, stepping diagonally towards him and sweeping his front leg from off the earth and as he was falling backwards, smacking him in the face with his sword hilt to finish him off. The other boy groaned, clutching his broken nose and shuffling away from his aggressor. "Well done Samael. Edwin would be proud...", his uncle lifted him by his throat and slammed him against the sand stone wall of the house, "But I am not him, am I? How about you finally fight like a man, not using cheap tricks to get the better of my son!". He dropped his Nephew on the sand below, watching him as he choked for air. Samael grasped his scimitar and slashed at his uncle, missing his mark completely and stumbled to the floor. "You're pathetic. You think honour resides in your actions? You would have you own brother killed if it meant you would finally be a knight like him..." His uncle was visible agitated by this remark and kicked the boy hard in his gut. Wincing he curled over, sand caking the side of his body that lay in it. He coughed and spluttered, clawing around in the sand to try to stand up, but every time he did, his uncle would kick him back down again. He stopped moving as his vision began to blur, until finally he blacked out.

What woke Samael was something from his worst nightmares. The first thing he heard was the clash of wood against steel, then a sickening crack. The gates of the city had just been brought down, and a swarm of Vikings were making their way through the City. Like locusts, they moved in unison, burning down houses and killing anyone who approached them. Out of the second gate came a squadron of conquerors, making a shield wall, whilst Lawbringers positioned themselves in between the gaps, thrusting the pole axes into the Vikings chests, the warm sticky, red substance pouring over the sand and boots of the knights. Samael managed to climb back to his feet as the carnage unfolded before him, both Knights and Vikings falling. A sea of blood soaked the sands and Samael picked up both his blades, and staring at the first gates, he saw six horses, each with a Templar seated on it's back. They rode inwards to the battle before them, dismounting and singling out targets before plunging into the fray, slaughtering anyone who stood in between them and the shield wall. Samael charged in with them, weaving in and out the clusters of bodies, making surgically precise slits in his opponents throats, chest and abdomens. They were dead before they knew what had hit them. The six knights and the boy all stood in front of the shield wall, standing proud. Until they saw an army, at least a thousand men marching toward the splintered gates. This was no horde. This was an army of demons...

* * *

Draven looked in front of him and saw the massive Viking threat sprawled out across the lone and level sands. A second, larger battering ram was approaching, the noise of chants and shamanic incantations emanated from the ram, as a collection of soldiers gathered around it, clashing their spears against their shields. "This is no place for a young boy", Cain said to the stranger amongst them. "Go back to the second gate, get reinforcements and warn the King. We need every man we've got to repel this invasion force..." the boy hesitated then nodded, running to the side and up the battlements, leaping over gates and ledges, before sliding down a rope and disappearing behind the second gate to the back of them. "Titanium and Haymaker, you go and defend the left flank, Paragon and Draven stay down here with the rest of the men, Valencia you're with me on the right flank. We hold these positions until that boy contacts reinforcements, then we push them out. Any one of you fails and they breach the second gate, I'll have you hanged.", Cains' stoic look faded as he began to laugh. "Only kidding. You fail, you'll be dead anyway." Paragon smirked and struggled not to laugh whilst the others went to the allocated posts and waited. In a matter of seconds, arrows and boulders blocked out the sun as they reigned down on the men below. most of them were unharmed, but a few of them were taken out by the boulders as they smashed into the fortress. Then they came.

The Vikings charged through the open gate, throwing fire flasks at the shield wall, burning the Knights alive. The smell of burning flesh permeated through the air, spreading like a disease across the battlefield. Raiders, Warlords, Shamans, Highlanders, all of them flooded through swinging their weapons and killing many of the knights left from the inferno before. Draven started to engage a Raider, bashing his ridged shield into his chest and then swinging his blade towards his chest, the Raider parried his attack and rugby tackled him, carrying him towards a wall and slamming his body into the cold wall. Draven saw the knee of the Raider approach him faster than he could react, but it slumped just before it crushed his skull against the wall behind him. Suddenly the raiders head was next to his leg and the body of the beast fell nxt to him. Paragon lowered his hand to help Draven back up to his feet and more Vikings were pushing through the choke point. "Fall back! Get to the second gate, we will hold them off from there!" The boy from earlier shouted from the archer point. Draven recognised him slightly. He had remembered his shaven head, his grey eyes, dead like a sharks. Yes, he had met him before. It was Edwins' son. Draven and the others began to shuffle backwards, as the Vikings killed off the weak and the slow. This was natural selection at it's cruellest, not for a single animal, but for the whole species...

As the knights were pushed back towards the gate, they were able to open it and let a steady stream of men through, until the remainder of the knights were safe from the demons they had locked outside. Cain and the others had managed to push back the Vikings on the ramparts, with the group now together again, they needed a plan. Fast. A siege engine had started moving towards the second gate, they only had a matter of minutes before the remainder of the army would be upon them. It would be a slaughter, and one the Templar wouldn't survive. "Wait, the Catacombs... Yes..." Draven pondered with himself and thought of a possibility of winning this wretched battle. "They lead to outside the castle, in a secret passage, right?"  
"Yes, I believe they do!", Cain replied, a fire of hope had sparked in his eyes.  
"Then the solution is simple. If we attack from both the ramparts and behind them, only a small portion of the force can attack. We can overpower them with archer fire and stop the siege engine! Cain, Haymaker and Titanium, make your way to the Catacombs and wait until they lock the engine in place. Bring your best men and charge once you hear the first blow to the gate. Valencia, Paragon go to the left rampart, me and the boy will go to the right. Then we shall strike." Cain looked at Draven and simply held up his hand and looked at him disapprovingly. "You know I'm the one who makes the plan, right..?"  
"But his plan is so superior m'lord!" Paragon burst out laughing and so did the rest of the group. All smiles ceased however, once heard the shouts and roars and grunts of the devils beyond the gate. "Go... Now!" Everyone scuttled around in the sand and burst into action most of the men following Cain to the Catacombs, whilst the archers followed Draven and Valencia up to the separate ramparts. "Pass me that clutch of arrows" The boy held his outstretched hand towards them.  
"You have no Bo-" Draven was cut short  
"I gathered that, give me them, quickly!"  
"Fine", Draven threw the boy the arrows and he broke the ends of them with one of his scimitars, slotting a dozen each into either side of his belt. Draven looked at him, puzzled at what he was doing and instead of questioning him, "What's your name, boy?"  
"Can we skip the introductions please? If you haven't noticed, sir, we are currently being attacked by a group of bloodthirsty Vikings... And it's Samael Aethling, son of Edwin. I believe you know him already?" Draven stayed silent and nodded a few times, before assuming position at the side of the rampart, ducking down so the Vikings, now intoxicated on their own confidence couldn't see him. Finally, after half a minute, he heard the first locks be put in place. Then a sickening crack.

"Charge!", Cain bellowed from behind the advancing war party. The Vikings turned around and Draven signalled for the archers to begin firing on their position, preventing the Vikings to push out of the confined space they were trapped in. Samael ran across the ramparts and vaulted sideways, grabbing onto a zipline and joining Cain and the others at the entrance. He took out six o the arrow heads and began throwing them underarm, so they glided through the air and each time they hit their target. Six men fell and he began grabbing more of them from his belt. Six more fell and he charged into the fray with the other knights, using his two blades to dismember his opponents. A warlord smashed his shield into the boys chest, knocking him to the floor. The Warlord approached him and stabbed at him. Dodging the sword, Samael was able to kick the looming figure in the chest, but as his foot made contact, the Warlord grabbed it and started to drag him to the side, gathering speed and throwing him into a wall. Stumbling to his feet, Samaels' vision was blurred and the massive body was closing in on him. Samael saw a flash of silver and an arrow stuck itself under the Warlords shoulder blade. It didn't kill the man, but it gave the boy just enough time to strike, smashing the hilt of his sword into the Warlords chest. When stumbling back, Samael glided across the sand behind his opponent and thrust his sword through his back. A look of horror and surprise fell across the mans face, as blood ran down his armour. Samael side kicked the man off his blade and proceeded to dive back into the fray. The archers continued to fire down at the fiends below them, as another sickening crack was heard. One more blow to the gates, and the Vikings would be through.

Draven stayed up on the ramparts, instructing to keep the arrow fire towards the centre, thinning them out, so that the remaining forces could easily overpower the weakened forces. Just then, he saw the mechanical parts of the siege engine clank and creak, moving in unison It was about to knock open the gates, letting the rest of the Vikings storm the Courtyard, where Aqua and Honour were, with a handful of men. If Honour died, it was over. The battle would be lost. Draven looked across at one of the Lawbringers next to him and nodded. The soldier threw him a leather pouch, sealed tightly with a piece of frayed rope. Opening the pouch he saw a bulbous, black rock, with a short stub of fibre, doused in oil. A single Igneus Imber. He knew that letting the bomb go off in such vicinity to fellow Templar could result in unneeded casualties. But if he didn't, his master and King would die. In the last second for him to make his choice, he lit the fuse and lobbed it, landing straight into the siege engines heart. An explosion followed, cloaking the battleground in a mist of sand and smoke. Then a creak. Then a crack, just as before...

Once the smoke had cleared, the siege engine had collapsed and the remainder of the Vikings were being slaughtered. Draven took pride in what he had done. He had saved his new family from those who destroyed his old one. But then he remembered. One Viking would remain after this day, one he would have to kill by himself. Haymaker. _That wretched fiend will die today,_ he thought_, but I must not be held responsible._ Then he remembered, Samael. He could manipulate him, get him to attack Haymaker and then Draven could kill her whilst fighting the boy. Yes, he would use Edwins' death to influence him, say that she gutted his father... "Boy! Are you hurt?" Draven shouted across the rampart and to the debris below. "Aye, but we should help the other men!"  
"No time. Come here, I need to tell you something... About your father..."

* * *

Samael looked up at Draven after he had told him of what the vile, deceptive Haymaker had done. She had waited until Edwin was injured and then she had slit his throat, leaving him to die in the woods, cold and afraid. His knuckles turned white as he gripped his weapons, the two slightly curved blades dripping with the blood of the scum who had dared pillage his home. Who had dared to kill his father. Walking through the palace looking out for the single target responsible for his fathers death. Finally he saw that wolf in sheeps' clothing, talking to Titanium in the mess hall. "You!", gesturing his blade toward Haymaker, "You killed my father in broad daylight, and yet here you stand in this great city, amongst my people? You deserve nothing but pain after what you've done..." Haymaker looked at him, reaching for her two axes.  
"Who is your father? I assure you, Squire, I have harmed no man in our legion." She remained poised throughout the confrontation, even stopping another knight from engaging with the boy. "And who told you of this event?" They boy clenched his fists around his blades and charged at the Berserker, swinging his blades wildly at her, catching her in the stomach before he was subdued by several of the knights around her. "Son of a..." She dropped her axes and smashed her fist into the young mans' throat. Then she continued to pummel him and screamed, "Who in the name of God told you I killed your father!"  
"Dr-...Draven... He..." Slumping with blood running down his lip they dropped his unconscious body, looked up and saw Draven, emotionless, like a husk of the man he once was. "I had to... You must understand, brute. I shall have your blood if nothing else today." The knights around him grabbed him and tried to bring him down, but he simply shrugged them off, slowly advancing to Haymaker, until he saw Aqua and Honour. "Stop this madness now Draven. Don't make me do this."  
"You will not stand in my way, master..."  
"Then know that you have chose this from your own accord." Aqua swung his sheathed sword at Draven and swinging it hard into his chin, following up with a shoulder barge, then smacking his cross-guard into his temple, knocking him clean out. "Get them to the prison, they will both stand trial tomorrow."

**A bit of an abrupt ending. My map knowledge isn't great, due to me not paying any real attention, so I've taken some...….. "Creative Liberties" with the map itself. Hope you enjoyed, a bit different from the other parts and it was a bit harder to write, so sorry for the wait. Sorry if it's still a bit slow or if there is anything yo u do not like about the story, please voice your opinions. If I don't know your discrepancies with the story telling, I can't fix it.**** Seeya for the next one!**


	6. Birth of a Demon

**Part 6: Birth of a Demon**

Droplets of water splashed from the ceiling. Or was it blood? He didn't know anymore. Listening to that noise alone was enough to drive a man insane. That and the constant dark, the scurrying rats picking up the splodges of carrion that had dropped off the carcases hanging from the stone walls. Both him and Samael had to atone for their sins. Confess to their great and glorious leaders, to repent for the attempt on Haymakers life. Draven knew they would make him and the boy beg, but he knew that he wouldn't. He wasn't sure about the boy, but the boy had remained silent throughout the interrogations they had endured together. Whilst the boy had screamed and writhed and howled like a dying hound, he had not uttered a single word about his influence, his treason against his people. Samael had remain poised during the brutal hours they both had to endure, so he had some faith, which for a man in his situation was better than none at all. "Draven... What happened to my... What happened to..." Samaels' head collapsed, his chin resting on his chest. A dim light began to approach Draven down the weaving corridor of the dungeon and he saw the silhouette of the thing he swore vengeance on and his old master. "Get the boy", Aqua spoke softly, "Leave the heretic here. I'll let you two settle your... differences... at a later date.". As Haymaker approached the boy and started unbuckling his chains, Draven spat at her, the spit hitting her face. "Coward. Even when I'm shackled to the wall you won't hit m-" Her fist crushed into his nose, making it gush with blood. Grabbing his matted, damp hair she headbutted him, before finally kicking him forwards in the chest, smashing him into the wall behind, winding him as he gasped desperately for air. "A coward is a man who gets a naïve boy to do his work. A coward is a man who attacks another warrior within their own home. A coward is the only title you deserve, isn't it? Draven the Coward, sounds nice doesn't it?" She spat at him and dragged the boy out of the cell by his arm, the rest of his weakened body dragging on the cold, wet floor. Draven screamed and tugged at the chains holding him back, wishing they would break. But they didn't. Then came silence as the light slowly faded away from him. Droplets became audible again, and he screamed once more.

Samael felt himself being dragged across the cold floor, water soaking his trousers, and sticking to his bare chest. The cuts were stinging and his whole body ached. Execution would be a mercy to him. Aching and struggling for breath, the force that was pulling him stopped, before carrying onwards. He was then thrown into a chair in a dark room, a fire in the middle torches around the entrance. Two figure stood in front of him, one holding a torch and the other a sword, resting it on the ground. "Who killed your father?"  
"The woman... Haymaker... She...", Samael trailed off, shaking his head before looking directly at the two in front, "Aqua, please..." the boy was shaking and the two spectres noticed the several cuts on his body and head. "In Gods name... Please, you don't need to do this." He sounded defeated, as if he wasn't truly in the room, as if he were already dead. "You've brought this on yourself, boy. You have yourself to blame. Now, who killed your father?" The boy stayed quiet.  
"...H-Haymak-" Aqua smashed his fist into his jaw, causing another cut to emerge from the boys' face, a blanket of blood flowing from his lip. Although Samael was loyal to the legion, he couldn't accept that his fathers' best friend would lie to him. Lie to his fathers only heir. A Viking didn't belong in the legion, let alone a Warborn. And he hated them for allowing it. "Again, boy, who?" Aqua stared at him and the boy stayed vigilant, repeating Haymakers name over and over again. He would hit him and ask again but everytime, Haymaker. Aqua looked across at her and nodded. She took out a metal rod with a flat circle on he end of it. On the circle had an engraving of a serpent, the image of Satan and sin itself. Haymaker walked towrds Samael and plunged the red hot steel into the right side of his chest. The pungent scent of burning flesh exploded from his body as he writhed and belowed out, tears streaming down his face. Aqua turned, but Haymaker seemed to partly relish in the moment, bringing pain to the one who had tried to bring her to Hel's door. Deep down, no matter what the did, she knew this creature, this wretched thing, would rot in Jotenheimr. After pressing the metal into his chest for half a minute, she let the instrument fall to the ground, clattering until the only sound they could hear was Samaels' whimpers and grunts. "We are done here.", Aqua turned to Haymaker, "Throw him back in with Draven. Let them rest, then we will proceed with a public trial. The legion deserve to see their apt punishments. Use them as an example of what traitors will be treated like." Samael was unbuckled from the wooden device that had him held down, and again felt himself being dragged across the floor, being tossed into a cell, a metal door smashing shut behind him. Hearing Draven scream down the corridor, he slipped into unconsciousness, allowing it to envelop him like a blanket.

* * *

Draven looked down at the boy and cradled him, shouting at Aqua and Haymaker, "What have you done!? Aqua please!" Silence rang out around him. His master had just branded the boy a Serpent, the highest dishonour a Templar can face. The mark of a Serpent consisted of a simple snake, twisted into a perfect circle. In the middle of the circle was the head of the reptile, its' fangs were shown with its' mouth gaped open. The size of it, around that of a stretched hand, covering the whole of Samaels' right pec. The skin was still boiling hot. Draven had heard of this brand before, but had never seen it in practice. The most notable of this title was... Samael. Before this, a Serpent brand was used to scare legionnaires into following laws and submitting to leaders if they had caused a ruckus, it had no record of ever being used on a Templar. Being a Serpent meant that you were as bad as the scum in The Myre or Valkenheim. It was a physical representation of a sin that the perpetrator had carried out. In this case, treason of the highest order. Samael had unwittingly tried to kill a Noble. Now he had to pay. Draven gathered his loose shackles, their was just enough slack to move to a small puddle of water that had collected on the floor. He then gathered in in his hands and dumped it onto the tender flesh on Samaels chest, preventing infection, or at least try to. "They will pay for this. They will all pay..."

Dravens' next sight was a troupe of Knights opening the gate to the cell he was confined to. They moved quickly, unshackling him and the boy, dragging them quickly down the corridor. Once they reached the stairs, both the prisoners rose and shambled up the stairs, the light blinding them as they came up. Draven could now see the faces of the men escorting him. Cain, Titanium were carrying him and Paragon and Gambit were carrying Samael. Gambit was a prize fighter who had joined the legion out of sheer luck, fighting alongside them in a battle. He never had much respect for his elders of the clan, even questioning the actions of the Seneschal and King. They were dragged through the corridor of the Palace, until they were both situated in front of a solid golden throne, Honour sitting upon it, Aqua by his side. The room was littered with fire lanterns, making it seem dark red, pillars of stone rose from the ground. Each of them formed a templar, then reverted back to its original state of being a pillar, as if templars were holding up the foundation of the palace. Windows of stained glass hung around the ceiling showing tales of the great templars, showing their battles and wars, their victories and defeats. Above the throne stood a crucifix, just above Honours head. "You understand what your crimes are, Draven? You also understand treason is punishable by death, hmm? So, pray tell, why would you plot to kill one of my nobles?" Draven looked at Honor and a puzzled look spread across his crestfallen face. Then he began to laugh.  
"You mean to say that a Viking is a Noble within your legion!? I have not committed treason in that case, my liege... You are..." The words hung in the air and the knights began to murmur and shuffle, hearing the words ring out around the throne room. "You understand that this is in no way helping your case. The only follower in your favour, is this...", Honor gestured towards the boy next to him, "Serpent." Samael pulled with all his might against his captors, but their grip remained firm. "You must also tell him the truth. Then you'll have no one by your side, so you can tell the naïve street rat, or I can..."  
"Haymaker did not kill your father... I told you that because I knew that without you, I could never have rid this legion from the scum who killed my family, who killed yours-"  
"How could a Viking kill him if Haymaker didn't? I have been branded for what? So a lying bastard like yourself can get away with murder!"  
"It's not like that. He was killed by a Highlander. A Warborn... Like her." Honor looked at Draven, a mixture of contempt and sadness in his eyes.  
"Draven, you have done the right thing. You have confessed to your lord. You may rest in peace now.", he nodded once and the guards began dragging him away when he shouted at Honor, "I knew I would be given no mercy, no justice, here. So I will let God decide my fate. I demand a trial by combat!"  
"Then you shall have it. I refuse to send a Legionnaire to you, so choose a Champion. God shall bless his blade, or leave it broken. Choose wisely." The boy next to him sniffed and looked into Honors' eyes, "I'll do it. I will fight for his life..."

* * *

In the courtyard of the city, stood Samael, wearing the same cloth trousers, with the addition of a metal face, one resembling that of Satan. It was a golden mask, with its' visage glaring: emotionless. Two horns sprouted from each corner of its golden scalp. He grabbed his two scimitars from the rack of weaponry next to him, swinging them methodically as he strutted towards his opponent, Gambit. He was a gladiator, wearing little but a leather arm guard, a wolf skin pelt and cloth rags for his leg wear. "This is a fight to the death, boy. I've learnt from the best of the best; you don't stand a chance!" The showman raised his arms as the crowd roared behind him. The cascade of sound died out as Aqua raised his hand, "Give us a show. May the best warrior win!", the hand fell and Gambit rushed forward, leaping into the air, thrusting his three pronged spear at Samael. Dodging swiftly to the side, he kicked the predator that had tried to sink its' teeth into his flesh. Samael unleashed a torrent of blows at the man, most of them being blocked by his buckler. Gambit then slammed his trident straight down to where the boys' foot was, but he had already moved, kicking the wooden shaft of his adversaries weapon. The tips of the trident slammed into the mans' shin. He yelled, and the boy threw one of his scimitars at the sand below his feet, ran forward and punched Gambit square in the jaw. Using this momentum, Gambit swirled, slamming his shield into the boys chest. Samael toppled and fell, clutching his chest. He screamed, rage filling him from head to toe. Wrath filled the boy now; this was no longer Samael, something else dwelled in his place. Both of the fighters ran at each other, the boy ducked and turned, gliding across the sand, and slamming his blade into Gambits bicep. Blood gushed from the wound and the man gasped, just as the crowd did. Samael picked up his second blade and gesture for his prey to fight back. Foolishly it complied, lunging and missing. Samael slit open the mans back now. Lunging again, the demon twirled and cut him again, blood pouring from his wounds. Fatigued and defenceless, the man dropped to his knees. "Where is your God now?", the creature taunted, "No matter. You'll see him soon..." He dug both his blades into the mans stomach, twisting the blades and pushing outwards, cutting him in two, his entrails lying on the ground, soaked in his own blood. "I'm done here."

Dropping his scimitars into the sun scorched sands, he stumbled away, leaving Draven alone with the now silent crowd, their eyes wide with shock as the man who had swore to condemn Draven lay on the ground, his hips parted from his torso. Honor stood and whispered to Aqua, before speaking to Draven and the crowd. "Your champion has saved your life. He has been branded that of a Serpent, yet was wrathful during the battle. He had no need to eviscerate his opponent, yet he did. He defiled a mans own form, for what seemed to be his own enjoyment. Samael is a blessed name. This... Devil... doesn't deserve a worthy title. Azazel is now his name. The Fallen One.", Honor smiled faintly, "But unfortunately, your crimes of treason cannot go unpunished. Therefore you are unbound by our legion. You show your face here again and we will have no choice but to execute you. Seize him." Both Cain and Paragon grabbed the heretic and began dragging him away.  
"You can't do this! You gave me your word! Honor!", Draven pleaded, but his king simply looked on, a cold gaze settled across his face as they threw Draven outside the Walled City. All fell silent, until a voice bellowed out from the wasteland outside the wall. "Memento Mori, ac Deus Vult..." Then... Silence.

**Sorry this took so long. For anyone who doesn't know, Memento "Mori ac Deus Vult" literally translates to, "You have to die, and God wills it." I'm already working on part 7 but at the same time, do not expect for me to be done quickly as, well look at my track record recently. Again, I do apologize for the wait, means so much that people actually care about the AR. Seeya in the next one guys, and thanks for reading.**


	7. The Fallen One

**Part 7: The Fallen One**

Gambit lay on the floor. Two pieces of the same man, sprawled across the sands. Blood slowly filled the sand, and the sky turned red. Samael turned and saw a man, cloaked in darkness. He wore a dark shawl, and he had the symbol Draven had carried, etched into the mans forehead. Grabbing him and wrenching him forward he bolted upwards, sweat dripping off of his forehead. He was in his bed, at his fathers' house with a blanket covering his lower half. Looking at his bedside table, he saw the golden mask he had worn during his trial. He couldn't help but smile. It was his first time killing a man, and he took it with pride. But it wasn't him who killed Gambit. He was a husk, something else had taken over, filling him with an unspeakable amount of agility and power; enough to dispatch his prey within half a minute. To his knowledge, he had no other punishment, apart from the... He stared at his chest and saw the twisted cobra embedded within his flesh. Dressing in civil clothes, covering every part of his body, except for his arms, neck and head. Due to him wearing a mask during the fight, he knew that he would be able to roam the streets without any of the Templar trying to avenge their fallen brother, Gambit. He left his house, entering the cramped bustling streets. As he travelled through the veins of the city, civilians from all walks of Templar life wandered aimlessly around him. He, however, had a purpose. Aqua had came to him after the trial saying he were to "Come to the barracks at midday tomorrow, we must discuss what to do with you, now you have no kin and no appointed master." He couldn't lie to himself and say he wasn't excited. He knew he would become a true knight after this, being appointed a new master and finally beginning his road to knighthood. Once he had reached the barracks he saw Aqua and beside him, the King himself, in his golden carapace.

"I see you have made it early Azazel.", Honor announced. Samael looked at him and gave him a confused look. Azazel? Had they forgotten his name?  
"I believe you are mistaken, your honour, my name is Samael Atheling, son of Edwin."  
"You have been renamed, in concordance with your crimes. You killed a Templar, letting a man who betrayed this order escape justice, and you expect to keep your blessed name? I think not, boy.", guards seized him and carried him towards Honor. "You will accept this name as redemption for your crimes. Although you fought well, we cannot let you become a knight, for your treason against the order..." Samael looked on in shock, feeling his very soul being wrenched from his body.  
"You mean to say that I am meant to relinquish my fathers name, all because of killing a man who was to kill me? I sided with Draven because he has been the only one to give me answers here. Even in the siege I was cast aside by my piers. Everyone in this legion has left me to rot in the dirt, whilst others happily climb the ranks to knighthood. Draven was the only one to accept me, and now you punish me for staying loyal to him!? With all due respect sire, I shall not bend to your will."  
"You may not bend to mine, but you will bend to his...", Honor gestured towards an old man, cloaked in a black gown. his face was solemn and he had a mark etched into his forehead. One of a Black Prior. Samael stared at the spectre, as more cloaked figures entered the room. "Although my methods are frowned upon by most, your king has directed me to you. Usually, a young one such as yourself is not so... resilient." The old man produced a golden crucifix. Ornate as it was, he realised that below Jesus's feet, it began to melt into a golden blade. "I will change your mind boy. Give up now, and we no longer have to endure your stupidity. Conform, and we are done."  
"Or we can leave the boy alone.", Aqua looked at his king as he spoke, "He has been branded a serpent, and we expect him to be renamed? I will not argue with your judgement, but look at him. Barely seventeen and being treated like a devil." Samael stared at Aqua, wondering why he would risk his own rank for speaking against the king. Samael shrugged the guards off him and knelt in front of the three knights. "I relinquish my name to you, my lord.", Samael stood and stared at Honor, "But I want something in return. I wish to serve as your assassin, under my new alias. I shall become your Serpent, to strike venom into the hearts of your enemies..."

The four of them travel into the catacombs, where the three templar produced the same golden crucifix and plunged it into a metal door, the bolts of which twisted and clanked together, unlocking the steel contraption. It revealed a cylindrical chamber, one made of sandstone, a huge bronze pit in the middle, filled with water, as clear as crystal. Above the bronze bowl was a metal grate, sunlight pouring into the chamber. "Enter the water, and you will come out a different man." Honor gestured towards the centre of the room and Samael slowly approached the water. He waded into the centre of the pool, the chilling liquid surrounding him, almost freezing the boys' blood. Plunging his head and body into the water, the air was sucked from his lungs, his muscles tensed and he gasped, the liquid running deep into his chest. Two hands grabbed the boy and pushed him down, until he could fight no more; his eyes sealing shut and his body twitching, before going limp. The sensation of motion filled him as the hands pulled him up and threw him onto the floor of the chamber. Everything was still black and he heard footsteps travelling away from him. Gasping, water spewing from his gaping maw Azazel looked around and both Aqua and Honor had gone, the only remaining was the old and decrepit man. "Azazel... Your name is Azazel."

The next morning Azazel donned his golden mask, leaving his prized blades home, he wouldn't need them today. It would be his first time training, so they would spar with him, giving him wooden replicas of known weapons. Today he would meet his master, in secret of course. A Serpent would never be allowed to join the ranks of the templar. And yet, he was working directly for the king. Once at the barracks, he was briefed like all the other squires Honor telling them the drills and explaining what they needed to do. But as he finished his speech, "But today we have a new student with us. His name is Azazel and you will all watch his sparing match with his new master, Lance. It will be to first blood." A Peacekeeper stepped forwards. Her face was covered by a helmet, slightly resembling Apollyon, but it's eyes were fractured, metal spines segregating it into even columns. It was golden, whilst the rest of her armour was simple leather corset, overlaying simple chainmail. She strutted around and picked up a dagger and sword, both as lush and ornately made as her armour. To an outsider, she could have easily mistaken her for a Baroness or Lady. "You know the tale, do you not?", she spoke calmly, her voice echoing around the silent battlement. "You know I beat Cain with a lance, boy? I didn't witness your trial, but you must of been lucky. It seems I could beat you with a single blade. I may just throw my sword away in that case!" Her strut was never broken when she approached him, before throwing the sword into the ground at Azazels' feet. "Your move boy. Take the blade..." Azazel didn't move, just locked eyes with the woman in front of him. "Well," She dodged back, "Let us hope that you're a better fighter than your father."

Lance lunged forward, thrusting her dagger towards the boy's chest, missing by an inch or so. Winding back and stumbling, the woman lunged again; now going for his throat. He slammed knuckles into her wrist, sending the dagger flying through the empty air. Using his other hand he grasped her neck, then hit her square in the face with his palm. Her helmet cracked into her nose, causing her to fall to her knee. Azazel then kicked the underside of her jaw, her head wrenching back and the helmet flicking up. She scrambled in the sand, like a dying animal, hiding her face the whole time. The boy walked over to her and grabbed her by hair. He then dragged her over to the dagger, picked it up and slit her cheek. As he did he noticed her face, the flesh around her left eye twisted and mangled. Her eye looked cloudy, a reddish mark emerging from the centre of her iris. He dropped her so no one else saw her deformity and spoke. "First blood. Guess your bark is much, much better than your bite." He snarled, "Shame my father again and I'll kill everyone you've ever cared about." Lance shivered and crawled to her helmet, placing it on her bleeding face. Then after gathering the strength to, she ran from the barracks, blood leaving a trail behind her.

After around four hours of training with the Squires, Azazel went away to the mess hall. He collected his food, consisting of bread and butter and an apple. By no means did he complain about this, some food was better than none. As he began his meal, in the desolate mess hall, Lance approached him and pressed a dagger against his throat. "Tell anyone of what you saw and if tell anyone of my burden and you will die." Azazels' eyes widened and he slowly moved his to his shirt and ripped it open. He pointed to the mark on his chest. "Now... are we even?". The woman stared at him, before slitting a small part of his forehead open, through his right eyebrow. Azazel clutched his head and smirked. Then she spoke whilst a grin spread across her face, "Now, we are even."

**Hopefully you enjoyed the chapter (I have had to remove part of it as it DRAAAAAAAAAAAGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGEEEEDDDDD on badly, so sorry a certain someone called Titanium)**


	8. A Change of Plans

**Part 8: A Change of Plans**

Azazel, before he moved to the walled city, was a street rat. An undesirable, lurking in-between the cramped, damp streets and alleys of the Citadel. Reaching his sixteenth year he decided he would travel to the Walled city, after hearing of the Knights Templar and more importantly, The Sacred Hand. The assassins of TheSacred Hand were an order of the Templar who had dissolved into myth, but deep down, he knew that at the city, thriving in its underbelly; they still served their King. Before he left Azazel met a man named Edwin. Learning of his upbringing, Edwin agreed to travel with the young boy. Along the way, Azazel fell and broke his leg. After three days and three nights Edwin stayed with him, protecting him from the dangers that hid in the wilderness. A scouting party from the Templar came across the two starving men, and took them to the city. Edwin was able to recover easily, however Azazel struggled,. suffering from a lack of sleep and unable to gain muscle mass. The Templar refused to train him due to his weakness. They thought it wrong to send a weak, pathetic boy to train for war; they would be cruel to let him endanger himself and his comrades. So Edwin did that job for them. Trials came, to see if the adolescent of the city could become Squires to the Knights. Azazel failed, whilst all others passed. But two weeks later, in the siege of the city, where were the same Squires that had ridiculed him? Whilst he fought amongst the men of his legion, most of them fell back, betraying their shield of courage. Of course, any victory would be short lived, being tricked into trying to murder another of the Templar by his adoptive fathers' friend. He paid heavily for it, but every burden comes with a lesson. He learnt that he didn't want to be stuck protecting those who cowered behind walls. He had finally learnt that the best way to protect his legion, would be to strike the enemy before they had time to strike them. He also learnt that the best way to strike is not through strength. Not through wit and intellect. It was through fear...

Honor stood from the chair at the front of the war room. Every chair was filled with a suit of armour, each one a renowned fighter, all skilled in their own way. "You all know why you have been called here. Our border camps have ran into some trouble from a new Samurai clan, The Kaiju. They have an unorthodox way of attacking, using a manoeuvre we have coined the Fetterman trap. What they will do is send the weakest of their order first, luring the opposing forces into an open area, before ambushing them from all sides. We have lost two full squadrons to this technique and the emperor of the Samurai has denied all ties to them. They have asked for our assistance in ridding these 'Kaiju' off of both our lands. In exchange, the emperor has promised peace between us, as well as reparations and supplies from the Kaiju attacks. I need a squadron of you to go into the Myre and dispose of the threat. To defuse the order, you will need to kill their Daimyo, Daichi the Enlightened. He is an excellent strategist, and a better swordsman. You will leave for the Myre later today and strike as soon as you can." The room stayed silent. All of the Knights shuffled and looked at each other, before Cain stood up, starring at Honor as he spoke, "Why would we help them? We have been at war with them since the cataclysm, and now they beg for peace because a small clan is becoming a tad bit troublesome? I won't stand for them. But if our men are in danger, I shall happily give my blade to the cause. So will my son." The war room once again went silent. Then, from the shadows, appeared a Peacekeeper. Lance. "I'll come. But, so will my apprentice. He will kill this 'Daichi' or he will die trying." Honor looked at Lance and cocked his head slightly. "And who exactly is your new apprentice?"  
"I am...", in the door stood what looked like a normal civilian, only wearing cotton trousers, a sleeveless shirt and bandages around his forearms and hands. His head was wrapped in a hood and his face encased in gold. Azazel.

"Show me your swords.", Cain demanded as he thrust his hand towards Azazel chest. He silently obliged and unsheathed his two scimitars. Cain winced as he saw the bloody, steadily rusting blades. "You expect to kill people with these?" Azazel, took off his mask and smirked at Cain, gesturing towards the blades.  
"Well that's what they are built for?". At this comment Cain placed the swords in two stands and swung his blade at them. After a sickening ring, Azazel noticed that both of his swords were shattered, the steel littered across the stone floor of the forge. Cain smiled widely as if to say, _I told you so_, and walked over to the furnace, picking up a pair of tongs, and thrust it into the flames. He removed two glowing swords and gave it to a blacksmith. The hammer fell again and again, smashing the first blade into a crescent shape, like nothing Azazel and the others had seen before. After both were done, they were plunged into cold water, steam bellowing out of the basins mouth. Removing the blades from the water they were greeted by two blades, each completely symmetrical. They were based off of the ancient Kopesh blades, or Moon Blades as referred to by some. They were like normal swords, but lacking a cross-guard whilst retaining a straight blade, until around a quarter up, where it became a very slight crescent that ended an inch behind the start of the blade, forming a short hook. "Now these, were built to kill." Cain stated handing the swords to him. Azazel swung them around with ease, being deceptively light for what they were. The group headed out before Azazel turned around and looked at the back of the forge, where he saw three masks. The first was a mask of a Wendigo, the second a Jiangshan and the third an Oni. Each one represented the fear of each of the three other factions. He would enjoy wearing these.

The three warriors mounted their horses as soon as they were ready and waited for their forth horseman. Just as they were about to leave a figure rode towards them, a metal skull covering his face and plated armour covering his body. Overturn, son of Cain and leader of the Templars cavalry unit had arrived. He was a Black Prior, which was quite odd, as their brutal method of fighting was often seen as dishonourable. Overturn was a formidable fighter, he had only recently joined back with the Templar after training with the Order of the Black Sun. His sword also had an unusual design, its' blade looking as if it was a flame, writhing within the confides of its' steel prison. Once Cain had briefed his son of the mission, as well as everyone else, Azazel donned his Oni mask. "What's that for?" Lance wondered, staring at the wooden face he had just put on. "An assassins best weapon is not the blade, it is fear."  
"But you can't kill with fear can you?" Cain chimed in now as they started to ride away from the gate of the city. Torrents of wind smashed against them as the moved onwards. "Quite right Cain. But make a man fearful and they hesitate. Their limbs freeze and they go cold. In that moment, they lower their defence, allowing you to strike before they can even react. An Oni is the representation of a demon in the Samurai culture. Same as this mask," he gestured towards the mask he wore when he killed Gambit, "instilled fear within my first opponent. Or that was the plan anyway..." The group remained silent after this. Silence was unsettling to them all, seemed as if the Earth itself was watching them. All of sudden Cain grunted as the group approached an old, beaten path. Azazel looked onwards, through the line of trees and along the dirt path they followed. Bodies. All laying around in the dirt, dark red stains soaked into the ground. He saw a woman, no older than twenty, three arrows shoved into her. Then he saw his father. A giant slit running from his stomach to his ribs. Azazel dismounted and stumbled over to his fathers corpse. It's skin had greyed and flies clung to his skin. His eyes were still open, blood shocked and grey. Collapsing next to the body he began to convulse, falling to his hands now and digging his nails into the soil. "Who... did... this..?", his breath was raspy, cutting up his words as he spoke. Tears fell onto the bloodstain around his father as Cain told him of the ambush. Again, rage now filled the boy as he screamed into the air. Cain put his hand on the boys' shoulder, but it was quickly shrugged off. "Daichi can wait... where are the Warborn…"

The hooves of the horses thundered through the woods as they drew closer to the Canyon, where the Warborn sect who had killed Edwin and Leah were based. Approaching the camp, Azazel switched his mask to that of the Wendigo. "Once you attack, we can't help. You're on your own on this one. Their is around twenty men down there, so... just stay safe." Cain walked back to his horse and Overturn followed. Lance approached now and grabbed his arm. "You don't need to do this. And like Cain said, we cannot help you. I have to go back to the city to tell the others of this... obstacle... we have come across, so from here on out it's just you, Cain and Overturn." She looked into the black holes of the mask as she removed her helmet, "Please... I don't want to lose another apprentice."  
"You won't." Azazel reassured her. Both of them could tell he was lying to Lance, but more importantly himself. He knew the chances of survival were slim, but he owed this to Edwin. He had to avenge his father.

* * *

"Please, you have to listen to me!", the foot soldier begged. "I need to speak to Bjorn! Now!" The other Vikings looked at the dishevelled man and showed him through to the great hall. Bjorn sat on his throne, drinking mead from a goblet made of a cow horn. Next to him lay a Warhammer, a Norse dragon etched into the handle. "What in Odins' name do you want?" Bjorn was clearly merry from the mead. "You look like you've been rolling in pig shite!" He laughed at his own joke and then gestured for the man to speak. "We were fine. Sat around the camp, in the middle of the Canyon. Valdr was talking to us all about the plan to attack the next load of merchants going to the Citadel, so we were celebrating the last attack on the merchants. Then it came... We thought it was a person, one of our guards coming to join us. But this thing, this... creature just walked around in the shadows before throwing one of the guards heads into the fire. We were all petrified and it just left. Or so we thought." Bjorn starred wide eyed at the soldier as he talked taking in every word. "It came back and just slaughtered most of the group. It seemed to melt into the shadows and then strike again. Until it was just me and Valdr. He fought well but... he didn't stand a chance. It tore his head clean from his body, and then it came over to me. It spoke like a man, but its' voice was raspy, its' head was like a deer skull, rotten flesh clinging to it. It just grabbed me by my throat and whispered 'Tell them what happened here. Tell them they aren't safe. Tell them.. I am coming.' Then it just..." The soldier broke down and started crying and Bjorn stood up and walked over to him with his war hammer in hand. He gently grabbed the mans jaw and spoke softly "Shhh... it's all OK. It's over now. Or at least it will be." Bjorn brought the hammer down on the mans head, cracking it clean open. His brains were scattered on the floor, his body twitching and convulsing. Bjorn looked at his two Praetorians and nodded. "Find who killed my brother. Find him and bring him to me... alive..."

**Yeah boy! That chapter was so fun to write. And yes this has been "Archived as such as I think it works better if you read p8 and 9 together, so that's why I released them together. I would have done it as 1 Chapter but that would have been around like 4 thousand words and no one likes that. Hope you enjoyed my dudes.**


	9. Daichi

**Part 9: Daichi**

Azazel stood over Valdr, his foot on the Highlanders' chest and his blade levelled to his throat. "You don't remember my father do you? Just another man that you've killed wasn't he?" Azazel pushed the curve of the sword into the flesh. Valdr choked as blood poured from his wound. The Wendigo standing above him knelt down and plunged his hands into the wound until it found his spine. The claws of the creature wrapped around the bone and snapped it, before pulling the head off of the Vikings neck. Blood sprayed everywhere and Azazel walked over to the last soldier and whispered into his ear, before watching him run like a dog with its' tail between his legs. The man mounted a horse and rode off towards Valkenheim. Panting as the adrenaline faded from his bloodstream he walked back through the woods back to Cain and Overturn. They stared at him and instantly noticed his blood riddled hands, still dripping with the warm, red liquid. He took of his mask and threw it into the sack hanging from his horses side. He wiped his hands on a cotton rag and looked into Cains' eyes, "It's done.", He plunged his hand into his bag and grabbed the Oni mask he had collected earlier, "Lets put an end to Daichi and his Kaiju."

They rode for a day straight before coming to the edge of the Myre. It was a sprawling swampland, nothing much else could describe it. All three of them wondered how the Samurai could have made this place habitable. Behind the swampland was a vast line of trees, almost like a wall, preventing anyone from entering. Or leaving. "So this is where they attacked from?" Cain asked the local.

"Aye sir. From that tree line, led the soldiers away through the swamp and slaughtered them in the trees." The local spoke with a thick accent, wearing a straw hat and farmers garbs. "How would you know what happened?" Overturn questioned the man, leaning forward on his kite shield as it dug into the ground.

"Because myself and Malice are the only ones that survived, and that was purely for the fact we fended most of them off, until they retreated." Overturn looked confused as the man took them back to the barracks. "My name from the Templar is Hawk. I came here on a small reconnaissance mission and well... Kaiju attacked and we lost all of our men. Just me, Malice and the women and children left. Glad you came, we need someone's horse to ask for reinforcements from a neighbouring village. Me and Malice can go and you can go and do whatever you need to do." The man picked up a buckler and trident from a weapons rack and put them both on his back. "See you lads later..." Hawk started to walk off, when Cain levelled his blade to the mans chest. The gladiator looked at Cain and winced slightly. "Why would you want to take our horses? And where is Malice?" Hawk simply pointed out of the door towards a wreck of a house, a small shack that was practically falling apart. "He's always in there now. Blames himself for leading the charge. I'll leave yo-"

"No, you'll come with us into the Myre. Then once the mission is done we will get you back home to the Walled City." Overturn smiled as he spoke, "Best way to get reinforcements would be to go back their and send a full squadron down to the boarders." As they spoke the door to the wooden shack flung open and a very drunk and aggressive Malice stumbled out, wiping his already dry nose with his forearm. "OK, I take it back. May be best to get home as soon as possible." Overturn burst out laughing as he walked over to Malice with Hawk trailing behind him. "So... guess they're stealing our mounts anyway." Cain said glumly as he sheathed his sword. "Right. Lets go."

The heat was oddly unbearable. Azazel had lived in a desert for at least a year, yet the Myres' heat seemed to be emanating from the ground, not from the Sun. As if the land itself was alive, warm blood coursing through its veins. The land itself was repugnant, most of it water logged and other part were ridded with poisonous fungi and plants. Trees were like towers and as thick as castles. This place was like another world, just as he imagined Valkenheim would be. Cain looked at Azazel and raised one of his eyebrows before speaking. "Why were you denied a place amongst the Squires?" Azazel looked at him and shrugged his shoulders, and unenthusiastic grunt coming from his throat. "I remember when Edwin suggested your access into the legion. Honor had no objection, but still you were denied. How so?" Azazel glanced at him again and just shrugged his shoulders again. "You know, you can talk to me. I knew your father well, he talked a lot about you. Told me about your life in the Citadel, how you were homeless. You were a thief back then. A good thief at that, first time you met him you were trying to steal his dagger apparently, he only caught you cause he coughed, felt a tug on his belt. I miss him, you must to. If you wanna stay with me and Overturn once we get back to the city, you can. Don't want you living like you did at the Citadel..." Azazel looked into his eyes again and pressed a finger to his lips and pointed towards an open area in front of them. In that area was a small monastery with barricades outside, and pikes, with knight heads placed upon them. Kaiju.

Azazel vaulted over the barricades, landing silently on the other side of them. Spotting a guard walking away from the gate he followed suite, hunched over like a cat stalking it's prey. Just as the guard was to enter the courtyard of the monastery, Azazel wrapped his arm around the mans' throat, covering his mouth with his other hand. After a brief struggle the guard went limp and Azazel concealed the mans unconscious husk behind some food containers. He surveyed his surroundings, his eyes moving frantically as the searched for doors and vantage points to help him get to Daichi. Before he could react he heard a blade whizz through the air, then a sickening, wet thud. Behind him, a Kaiju warrior lay, headless, with Cain standing over him. "Be more careful next time." Cain whispered. He then pointed to a small cliff face and spoke. "Climb up there, OK? You'll be able to see where the others are and direct me to Daichi-"

"No, I can't let you do that Cain. Lance has made herself clear. I must kill him. It is my right of passage into The Sacred Hand." Cain sighed, and you could clearly hear his annoyance in his voice. "Just because you killed some drunk savages doesn't mean you are ready to kill Daichi. The man is a genius! You fight him... I won't be able to help you..." Azazel stared into his eyes and pointed to the rocky peak. Cain nodded and started to climb up the face of the mountain, as Azazel slunk back into the shadows. Once Cain had reached the top he used his sword to shine a slit of light to where he should go. The beam pointed to a clay wall, a circular door; the only entrance. Slowly approaching the door he could hear grunts and shouting now. Opening the door he saw a flash of silver and the wooden door splintered. The blunt of an axe had just smacked into his stomach. He gasped, flying backwards as he was hit. At the door stood a massive hulking figure, a wooden mask with a blank expression. A two sided axe and wooden trinkets wrapped around the warriors belt. A Hitokiri approached him swinging his battle axe at his feet, sparks flying off the silver blade. He looked up at the peak to see Cain fighting a Kensei. One who was an expert swordsman. A genius some may say. Finally, they had found Daichi.

**Oooo... left it on a cliff hanger boys. If GCSEs don't get in my way Part 10 will be out soon but we all know I gotta focus on exams and all that shit. Really sorry for the wait, wasn't in a good state of mind. Hopefully you enjoyed the two part publish . Seeya in the next one**


	10. The Shadow

**Part 10: The Shadow**

The axe was brought smashing onto the boys' dual blades. He swivelled and kicked the Hitokiri in the back making him stumble forward. Turning again, he swiftly dodged the axe head that was to collide with his head. Swinging his sword upwards and catching the man on his chest, he bellowed out and grabbed Azazel by his throat and lifted him up in the air, dropping his axe and Azazel dropped his two swords. "Your soul... is mine!" Azazel writhed and choked in the demons grasp, his grip becoming tighter and tighter. Azazel let go of the mans' fore arm and smashed his fist into his jaw, then planted his feet onto his chest; pushing with all his strength. He soared through the air, landing on his feet in a crouch. "Don't be shy, young one. You must be cold... let me warm you..." The Hitokiri dashed forward and swept up his axe, shoving Azazel onto the stone floor. He gasped, the air being sucked out of his lungs. He felt a cold fury fill his body and he simple smirked at the beast that towered above him. Just as the axe hit its' mark, the serpent turned, the blade scraping his back. Rolling towards his opponent, he grabbed his leg and smashed his elbow into his knee, causing it to buckle. He then kicked the man square in his chin. Blood burst under the mask as the man fell backwards. Azazel picked up his two swords and slowly approached the man, before hooking his blade around the back of his neck. "I want you to know you fought well. You fought better than the others before you, anyway." Just as he was about to slit his throat with his second blade he heard Cain yell at the top of his lungs, "Yield!". Looking up to the rocky peak, he saw the Templar kneeling, the blade of a Nodachi pointed at his throat as his sword lay on the ground next to him. Azazel dropped his two swords and put his hands up. "Let him go. Take me, but let him go."  
"I think I will take you both", Daichi shouted back, "I wish only to talk."

Inside the monastery, Kaiju guards lined the walls, each of them holding a respective weapon. Most of them were Ronin, Samurai who had lost their masters from either battle or from a dispute that terminated their contract. Daichi was a prime example of this being disowned by his family for trying to kill his tyrannical brother, Hanzo. He told the two knights of his story, but most importantly, of his innocence. You see, not only Hanzo was now one of the emperors advisors, but he had killed Daichis' father to get to that position. Everyone was so oblivious to this fact, that Daichi had made a small clan, that targeted the emperors troops. Everything was going smoothly, the emperor began to lose power in the outskirts of the Myre. Until he arrived. A shadow, a husk of a man entered the court. Humble yet wise, the emperor placed him as chief advisor working closely with him and Hanzo. The thing had perfectly infiltrated the court, and finally advised that the emperor send his men to provoke the Templar and ask for their help. Then blame it on another Daimyo and pit them against each other. It was complex and better still, it worked. But the two Templar had one question. The shadow. The husk. Who, or what, was he? Azazel and Cain knelt on the mats as tea was served to them, Daichi and the Hitokiri sat opposite them. "You mean to say that you know all of this, when you have been kicked out of the court? It makes no sense. How do we know you aren't lying to us?"  
"Because why didn't I kill you when I had the chance?" Daichi spoke softly as he turned the teacup methodically in his palm. "And I've heard what I have from Hanzo. He wants power, nothing more. He wants to usurp the throne and rule himself. He knew his secret was safe with me, as I am hated by my nation. No one would believe me."  
"OK, that seems fair. Who's he?", Cain gestured to the lumbering beast sat next to the Daimyo, who had still not removed his mask.  
"That is my son, Talon. He rejected his birthname to honour a Squire he killed. His first kill in fact." Azazel raised his eyebrows and leaned in.  
"How many have you killed big guy? 'Cause if our fight was anything to go off of,. then it won't be much." He smiled and leaned back. The room was perfectly silent, before the Hitokiri burst out laughing, doubling over and wheezing, he rocked the table as he did so. "I like this one! Hopefully I shall add your soul to my collection..."

Daichi led the two to a secret passage, leading to an underground tunnel, water dripped from roots embedded in the soil ceiling. Once they reached the end, it converged into a large metal door. He flung it open to reveal a dimly lit laboratory. Around the room on dusty shelves stood animals in glass balls and jars, a viscous liquid encasing them as they slowly drift from side to side. The smell of oil from the torches in the rooms permeated the air. Plants, fungi and other materials littered a massive desk I the centre. "I have a job for the assassin. But an assassin can't use only steel to kill. You aren't strong. So don't try to overpower people. An assassin uses his strengths. Speed mostly. But you can't use speed, or fear, or darkness to kill. So you will need to study for a day or two. This is my apothecary, my assassins use it to concoct poisons and nerve agents to disable their prey before they can even react. I can explain everything here so take what you need." Azazels' eyes lit up with glee as he darted around staring at the several bottles, jars and vials filled with poisons or powder of such. "So what do you want?" Daichi spoke as he leaned on the wall. Azazel looked dead into his eyes as a psychotic smile crept across his face, his eyes locked onto the Daimyos' own. "I want... I want everything..."

As Azazel exited the monastery, he noted the poisons he had been gifted. First, powdered Ricin. It was a very potent and powerful vegetable alkaloid, found in Ricin Beans. Usually it was not used as a poison, due to its' rarity, but if ingested it would cause death from muscle paralysis, therefore suffocating the victim whilst they are trapped within a husk of a body. The next, was the secretion of a poison dart frog. If it even came in contact to the skin, it could stop a mans heart within minutes. The third and final was Devils Tear. A home made poison made by Daichi himself. However, it was more of a serum than a poison. The user of the tear, would shred all sense of fear, death and weakness. They would revert back to animal instinct and unlock a sort of strength lost to man through their advancements. It was untested, except from Daichi himself, and even then, he vowed never to use it again. A drop of it was able to send a man into a fit of rage. The Serpent had finally found his venom. And it would be glorious once he found the shadow and sunk his fangs deep within his flesh.

* * *

The shadow sat next to Hanzo and the Emperor. He sat, silently, until the court room was empty. He shifted his hand quickly, and Hanzo gasped, noticing the dagger that had been plunged into his throat. Emperor Hasashi stumbled backwards as the shadow approached him. "I don't want to kill you lord. So you will be my puppet, for now."  
"You can't do this!"  
"But I can. Who will stop me?", The shadow laughed at the Emperor as he shivered and flinched.  
"What are you?"  
"Me? I am an old friend of the Templars." He removed his cloak and grabbed his victim by the lapel of his shirt, throwing him off the throne. "I am Draven, the Unbound! King of Sin, Emissary of Hell. The Templar will fall. And you, Hasashi, will cause their downfall..."


	11. Blessed are the Peacemakers

**Part 11: Blessed are the Peacemakers **

Azazel felt the cold breeze against his face, as he stood atop a rooftop, staring down at Koto Palace. It was beautiful, the curves of the rooftops, and the elegant way the building seemed to be formed. Guards lined the outside of the gigantic structure, like ants guarding their nest. It was here where the Emperor lived, where he ran his court, where the laws of the land were developed and passed. It was also where the Shadow was, the entity that wanted the destruction of the Templar. Azazel had a feeling he knew who it was, but why? If it were him, then why would he go to the Samurai for help, and not form his own Legion? He wrestled with the thought but was soon interrupted by a metal hand resting on his shoulder. "You know the dangers, right?" Cain spoke softly. Azazel closed his eyes and nodded. He knew that with his brand he was bound to his sin. No confession could cleanse him, no priest could save him from Hell. "I know them like the back of my hand Cain. One life to save the Templar, and prevent all out war? Fair trade." The boy gave a weak smile, before walking backwards, so he reached the other end of the sloped roof. "Once you get in, you kill the gate patrol. Open the gate, us three will join you. We kill the Shadow, Hanzo and the Emperor, then we leave. The power vacuum left will tear the rest apart." Daichi formulated the plan, and spoke it as clear as water; no mistakes or hitches or they all would perish. The Hitokiri leapt off the roof into the market below and punched the biggest man there square in the face. "That's my distraction?" Azazel laughed. Cain and Daichi remain crest-fallen and Azazel sighed, wrapping his cloak around him, placing his Oni mask upon his face and drawing his hood. Cain looked at him and nodded, before the Serpent jumped across the rooftops, before landing near to the gates of the Palace.

Azazel trudged through the muddy streets, adding a slight limp to his gait, and picking up a wooden pole to disguise as a walking staff. Going up to the gates he slammed the stick on the giant wooden door and screamed. After the clank of bolts and two archers at the top of the gate aimed arrows at the old mans back. He screamed again, and a guard, no older than twenty opened the door. He shouted at him in Japanese and the old man simply lifted his stick towards the commotion outside. He then opened part of his cloak to reveal a bloodstain, before collapsing into a puddle. There was a brief cacophony of footsteps and the clank of weapons, before at least five of the guardsmen left the palace, whilst another two lifted the man up by his armpits and carried him inside. In the commotion, they hadn't even checked the mans face. They didn't see the demon they had invited into their home. All they saw, was a helpless and dying man. And none of them were ready for what was to come. Azazel tightened his body so the guards dropped what they thought was dead weight, and as they turned him over, he threw two steel knives into their throats. Removing his cloak and bolting up the stairs he drew both his swords, before smashing one of his blades into the pink flesh of an archer. Another blade slammed into the others, and they fell onto the canopy, their blood dripping through the floorboards. Then he spotted him. A single guard. Just one. Running towards the centre of the canopy, where in its place, a massive bronze dish. In the soldiers hand, was a wooden rod, with a ball of cloth wrapped tightly on it's end. A war gong. Just as the stick hit the drum, Azazel through a dagger at the mans wrist, slitting it wide open. "I know you can't understand me, but I want you to know I will not make this quick." Petrified, the man stumbled back and fell over, beginning to shuffle away from the creature that advanced towards him. The Serpent scraped it's sword against the dish, sparks flying off it, onto the ground below. Just as he was about to have his fun, the man drew his sword and plunged it into his chest. Suicide before dishonour. A flaw all the Samurai held. And an unwelcome one at that. Jumping from the canopy, Azazel landed at the front gate, and pushed it a crack open, and his assailants slipped inside. "Now... find them." Daichi dashed away, leaving Cain and Azazel alone in the dark.

Cain and Azazel Silently dashed in between shadow and shadow, other patrols around the palace were oblivious to their presence. Cain would always make the first move if they were to attack, that was the rule. But rules, in this case were made to be broken. Azazel spotted three Samurai stood next to a barrel, cards and glasses were littered on the top of it. They looked drunk, stumbling around and laughing much too loud. A flash of silver, ad a dagger was in ones chest. The other two drew their swords as Azazel and Cain ran at them. The first was met by Azazel, and they begun to fight. One blade crashed down upon the other, Azazel quickly being pushed onto the backfoot. For saying the guard was supposed to be drunk, he was surprisingly strong. A fist flew at Azazels skull, knocking the wooden mask off his face. Falling to the floor, he rolled and jumped back to his feet. Behind the man who he was fighting, he saw Cain thrust his sword deep into the other guards chest, a fountain of blood spraying across the courtyard. His aggressor ran forward, then stopped dead in his tracks and feel. His head had been removed from his neck, more blood spraying across the ground. Cain walked up to Azazel and grabbed him by his neck, slamming him against a wall. "What in Gods name where you thinking?!" Cain remained quite, but as he hissed, Azazel could feel the hatred in his voice. "What have you learnt? You are young. Weak. You can't expect to overpower someone! Use your strengths, you idiot!." Cain threw him down. "You jeopardise this mission, and you'll have my blade to answer to." Azazel grabbed his mask and placed it upon his face, staring at Cain through the small slits where his eyes were. Cain moved on, straight outside the throne room, Azazel following behind slowly. Suddenly, an arrow flew through the air and smashed into Cains shoulder. He grunted and snapped the shaft of it and drew his sword. "If it isn't the Templar, come to stop the inevitable. Who is it then? Cain and a new one? This will be fun." A cloaked figure, kite shield strapped to one arm, and a sword in the other. He walked forwards, and pulled a round object from a sack hanging limply from his hip. A head, held up by its blood-soaked hair. The Shadow tossed it at Cain's feet. The features of the head were darkened, but still recognisable. Daichi. "I do hope that you last longer than your little pet here." As he spoke, the man removed his hood, revealing a shaven head, with a symbol etched into the flesh of his forehead. "With you out of the way, I may be able to conceal this mess."  
"Please brother, you needn't do this. You were spared when we wished you dead, surely that should be enough?" Cain spoke, panting as he did, blood slowly dripped from the arrow wound. "You took _everything_ from me! You expect mercy, from the man you wronged?", the Shadow barked, "You are naïve aren't you? And who is this, hmm? You send an apprentice to kill me as well? Pathetic." The Shadow raised his hand, and two Orochi walked out from the dark corners of the plaza they were in. both of them wore ornate armour, with Kusanagi swords. You could tell from their appearance that they were the elite guard of Emperor Hasashi. "Don't kill them. Just make them weak and I'll have my fun at the end of it all."

The two wolves circled the injured ram and his young. The atmosphere was one of dread, and you could smell the fear that reeked from Cain and Azazel. Cain was losing blood. Fast. "Go.", Azazel whispered to his higher up. "Find Hasashi and Talon. Get back to Honor and Aqua and get them to rally their forces."  
"I can't let you do this alone, it's suicide..."  
"And I can't let you die. Go. Please..." Azazel whispered again, choking on the last word. Cain nodded and pushed the door to the throne room open and ran inside. One of the Orochi tried to follow, but Azazel dashed over and kicked him square in the chest. Then it began. Both of the assassins rushed forwards towards Azazel, swiping their glistening blades at him. Not even raising his swords, the Serpent slid and stepped from the blades. Finally raising his blades, he twirled around one of them, nicking him in his back. The enemy turned quickly and cut Azazels shoulder, before the other one on them sliced open the back of his leg, making him fall to one knee. The Shadow clapped as he did, shouting at them, "Entertainment at its' finest! A lone Templar, one who is helpless at that. Remove your mask, boy." Azazel grabbed the bottom of his mask and flung it across the courtyard. The shadow gasped slightly as he saw his black, stubbled hair; his grey and dead eyes. "Samael... I..." the Shadow began, but he couldn't find the words. "I'm sorry Draven.", the boy muttered, "but you should've just killed me...". Draven tilted his head in confusion as the boy lifted a small vial up to his lips. Gulping the clear liquid inside, Azazel collapsed onto all four of his limbs and began to scream. He felt his muscles harden, and his heart pounding in his chest like a war drum. He felt his blood pulse through his body. But he didn't feel human. It felt as if he had been possessed, as if the devil himself had taken a hold on him. He sighed, and his breath formed a steamy cloud as it poured from his mouth. He stood and dropped both of his swords. "You wanted your fun, Draven. Here I am..."

Azazel slammed his bare fist into te Orochis neck, sending him backwards. Dashing t the back of him he grabbed them by the neck and threw them to the ground. He then slammed his foot onto the mans stomach and his stomach pumped, food and acid spewing out of his mouth. Azazel then slammed his fist into the mans face, knocking him out. Turning to the other Orochi, he ran up his body, backflipping of his chest and kicking him smack in the jaw. Azazel then dashed forward and screamed, slamming his shoulder into his aggressors waist and then lifting him up, throwing him down onto the floor, before taking a dagger and throwing it into his throat. Both of them would drown in their own bodily fluids. "My God, you have improved young one... join me." Draven spoke with conviction and pride for his former apprentice. "Together we will end them. Make them pay for what they took from us!" Azazel roared, then ran towards Draven, filled with hatred he had never felt before. Draven didn't flinch, or move. He simply raised his shield and flipped Azazel over his shoulder, then brought his sword deep into his pelvis. Azazel snapped out of his rage and saw the silver blade in him. Draven removed it and knelt down. "I'm sorry boy. But I can't let you stop me." Draven turned and walked away, blood still dripping from his blade. Blood puddled around the young Serpent, as he gasped for air not wanting to pass out. But he knew, deep down, that he was dead already. Silence hung like a blanket, covering the scene of death he had caused. His eyes sealed shut as he heard the doors to the throne room fly open, and saw Talon and another Samurai carrying Cain. They rushed over to the boy, and a single word escaped his lips, before he slipped out of consciousness. "Draven..."

* * *

**Woooo, finally back in the swing of things. Hope you enjoyed this chapter! I enjoyed writing it. Also go check out Gods, cause yeah just do it please. Please? No? Awwww damn, worth a try... (no but please, I've looked at the views of the stories and Draven is doing fine. Gods on the other hand has got me hella depressed, due to the fact that 20 people read the first chapter, and now literally A SINGLE PERSON has read the opther two chapters, and for me that is really, really depressing. With Draven I'm not that bothered, although it did go from 219 views on the first chapter and dropped and has kinda kept slowly dropping, it still has a good amount of readers. But again Gods is like a little love project, but I'm very close to giving up on it, due to only one guy or girl actually enjoying the story, if that makes sense. Bit of a rant but you can see where I'm coming from I think. Anyway hope you guys enjoyed.**


	12. Creation of a Husk

**Part 12: Creation of a Husk**

Cain felt the arrow digging into his skin as he bound up the stairs to the throne room. On the throne sat Hasashi with a smug look on his face. Daichi was sat by his side, his head bowed and a smirk spread across his face. "Cain, you finally come to join me! Please, put down your steel. You're already dead." The emperor spoke with a vulgar tone as he gestured to the wounded knight. "Daichi, how are you..?"  
"The head you saw was that of his brother, Hanzo. You see, Daichi is the one loyal to me, not Hanzo. It was Hanzo you were to join the rebellion with. A ruse that you fell for, and so did your apprentice. I must congratulate you on your progress however. Honor will launch an invasion force that will be thwarted by mine. Then I shall rule over Ashfeld and the Myre! It will be legendary!"  
"you don't understand... Draven is using you... you turn your back on him a-and...", he collapsed in a heap on the throne room floor. Raising his hand to Daichi before it fell with the heap, Talon picked him up and smacked him in his temple. Draven came through the door as Talon left. Draven let out a sickening laugh. "They have no idea what's coming do they? Let them win this battle. Let them usurp the throne. We'll stretch them as thinly as possible... then we strike..."

* * *

He was in Heaven. At long last, his life had been pulled from his grasp. Heaven was different to what he imagined it to be. It looked like his old house, the one he lived in with his adoptive uncle. Rooms looked the same, but every few minutes, it would shake and jolt and spasm and move. It made his head hurt, even trying to stand. But in the centre of the room he was in, as if they appeared out of thin air, was a very familiar face. His skin was greyed and his eyes were too. His armour no longer glistened in the desert sun, and it was caked with dirt. The mans' chest was open, dried blood stained him as well. "Hello son." the apparition spoke. Edwin Atheling, the man who had raised him and turned him from a starving street rat into a skilled swordsman. The man who had inadvertently saved his life. The man who accidentally condemned him to his death. "I thought you would join me someday. Not this soon though." Azazel fought back tears as he ran and embraced his father. He felt a mixture of sadness and joy as he tightly held the only man who had ever cared for him. But as soon as he did, he felt a tug on his very essence. As if he were to wake up from this blessed nightmare. "I don't want to go back... not without you." The boy spoke, his voice quivered with fear.  
"I never left you my son.", the apparition whispered, kneeling down and placing his forehead on Azazels. "I'm always watching over you. Know this before you leave." As the words parted from Edwins' lips Azazel felt a rush of cold air smash against his skin.

His eyes opened and he saw the ceiling of the Squire dormitory. Back in the Walled City. Back to the people that had sent him to die. Next to his bed sat Aqua, his helmet still plastered onto his head. Azazel could feel his gaze upon him. "Finally, the Serpent rears his head." Azazel sat upright, a searing pain passing through his lower abdomen. He winced and lay back down, then tried to sit up again. This time, he was successful, but the pain was still immensely unbearable. "Whilst you were asleep, Cain and the Hitokiri, Talon, alerted us of your encounter with Draven. We have subdued the Samurai threat for now, and Hasashi is dead. As we speak, Honor is selecting one of the Daimyo as a puppet. We are closer to peace than ever due to the victory of the battle. I myself have only just returned from battle." Azazel sighed and turned to Aqua, looking at him with half disgust and half admiration. He hated him for so easily dismissing the reality of the situation. But he couldn't stay mad for even a split second, he and Honor had fought to control Koto. Azazel coughed and then croaked, "H-how long have I been out?" Aqua sighed and stood. "Week and a half. Cain's still down, we suspect he's been poisoned from the arrow head..."  
"W-where is the antidote?" he strained as he spoke, his head was swimming with light. Aqua started to leave and he turned slightly, his helm cast in shadow. His fist clenched by his side and the squeeze of leather could be heard throughout the dormitory. "Such a thing does not exist. We don't think he has much time left." Azazels face dropped as he heard those words slip from Aqua's lips. "He is in his quarters. Once you have recovered, you may visit him."

Azazel clambered out of the wooden framed bed he lay in. The air around him seemed to hold restriction on his movement, as if he were walking through water. He knew he shouldn't be walking around. But he needed to find Cain. There was no time to rest, and for what it was worth, he may know what he was poisoned by. He inspected himself, looking down to see white bandages wrapped around he torso, a dark stain burned into the cloth. He touched it and it was dry as the desert surrounding the city. He really had been asleep for a week at least, wounds that severe don't heal as quickly as it must've done though. "Don't move you imbecile. I don't want to have to look after your wounds again. Especially if I give them to you." The old man sat in a wicker chair in the corner behind the bed. He looked frail and lean, with wisps of grey hair falling down from his scalp upon his face. "Shut up, don't even ask who I am. It isn't important. What's important is that you lay back down and I go and see Cain for you." Azazel stood, unable to focus properly as the man spoke. "I'm sorry... who are you? I-"  
"And what did I say? Hmm? Oh yes, don't ask me, but of course the young ones don't listen." the man barked through his teeth, saliva spraying from his thin and withered lips. "Fine. I am Lazarus, Head Scholar here at the city. I know everything about poisons, medicines, antidotes, you name it I know it. But what happened to you and Cain? I have no clue. The poison you foolishly ingested seems to have made your muscles shred themselves to such an extent, they are stronger than most. You won't be stronger, just be able to move like a Cheetah. I also have hypothesised, that you are an atrocious swordsman. The way you were stabbed suggests the blade pieced you from behind, or when you were on the floor. Seeming as there is no entry wound from the back, you were on your back when you were attacked. As indicated by the slashes on your shoulder blade and back of the thigh, you are weak as well, and refuse to wear armour." Azazel stood astonished as Lazarus spoke to him, his head felt as it were rolled in clouds, and he felt the world spin around him. "Oh yes, and Cain. He seems to be poisoned from his arrow wound, and it is incurable. He will die in around a week from muscle failure. Man made poison as well, and I have no clue how to replicate it. Seems to be a neurotoxin, but I cannot be sure." Lazarus reached for a small dagger concealed in his sleeve. "Enough chatter boy, time to sleep." Lazarus wrapped his arm around Azazel and pulled him in closer, before making a small slit in shoulder, just below the neck. Azazel began to hum with rage, feeling him muscles tense yet again, before his veins started to bulge. Azazel stamped on the old mans toe, and locked his arm around Lazarus's. He then took the dagger and threw it to the floor. "I will see Cain. You will go and sit in that chair and wait for me to return. Understand?" Azazel whispered under his breath, feeling the air around him turn as hot as fire as he shoved the man back into the wicker throne he was situated in before. Azazel walked out of the room and glanced across the corridor, seeing a slightly open door. A crack of light shone through the slit and blurred what was inside. The only thing he saw was a single helmet stood proudly on a chair next to a white sheeted bed. And it belonged to Cain.

Azazel pushed open the door and revealed the inside of Cains chambers. Cold and harsh wind slammed into his semi clothed body. Next to the bed, sat Cains helmet, dagger and sword. All were polished clean, as if to coerce his mind and body to heal so he could reunite with his precious gear. Azazel stumbled over to the foot of the bed and pulled up another stool situated near to it, gazing at the man who had saved his life. He only wished he could return the favour now. Cains skin looked like worn leather, that which had a grey tinge to it. His lips were frozen blue and his eyes were sealed shut, moister around them glistened like a thousand coins. His hands lay by his side, contorted and rigid at his side, the veins on them bulged out like worms in wet soil. His breath was shallow and every now and then his finger, or thumb, or eyelid would twitch; the radiance of hope shining for a split second each time, before it faded back into the dull grey hue that was his skin. Clutching the wooden frame of the bed as he swayed, Azazel felt a torrent of pain and anger flow through him. Tears feel from the young mans eyes, soaking into the translucent sheet that covered his master. A figure stood still in the doorway. A man, cloaked in black, with black steel concealed beneath it. On his forehead, the mark of a Prior. "Hello, my son..." Draven croaked at Azazel. Grasping at the dagger, Azazel rushed forward and slashed at his throat. A spray of warm sticky red hit him, and the black cloak turned to ash. Dravens face contorted as the body writhed on the floor to reveal Lazarus, blood pooling around the old man. As he stopped moving, the Serpent dropped the blood soaked dagger and collapsed into a heap on the floor next him. Suddenly he fell, the earth seemed to vanish as he feel into hell itself. Screaming as he fell, he finally jolted upright. The boys eyes had no colour to the now, the iris had turned to a washed out white, still tinted with the usual dead grey. The thing rose and twitched. Finally it picked up the dagger and licked the old mans blood off of it. "You must be cold, young one." Azazel whispered, "Here, let me warm you." Cains eyes fluttered open as he saw the strange figure walk from his room, out towards the palace.

* * *

Lance hung from her limp arms as Bjorn smacked her with the hilt of his war hammer. "I've told you, I don't know where the boy will be.", Lance croaked as she spat blood out onto the hay covered floor. The towering Viking chuckled and held her jaw in his hand. "I hoped you'd say that. That just means more fun for me." A figure walked out from the shadows behind them, twirling a mace in his hand. "And for me!" The knight said as he slammed the mace into Lances knee. She screamed and spasmed as pain rushed through her. Valencia looked at Bjorn and smiled. "If the plan goes right, he'll be with Daichi as we speak. Do not worry my friend. Draven will succeed and you will be paid heavily for your service to him. For now, however... we play.."

* * *

**Well that was confusing to write, but I have made sure there were no plot holes, so I will explain them.**  
**Daichi and Hanzo are brothers, before people say this was a cheap plot twist, I had this planned from the start.**  
**Bjorn is in fact head of the Warborn who attacked Edwin, and wants revenge for Azazel killing his brother. Valencia is a lackey of Draven and Draven can't be there as he is currently in the Myre.**  
**Devils Tear, is a sort of mind control serum so that is how Talon was controlled as well as now Azazel.**  
**I feel like I shouldn't need to explain this, as it should be pretty self explanatory, but just in case there are any confusions, as I didn't want to make this and get a bunch of questions as why the stuff that happens in this chapter happens. Yes I am continuing to go darker, as "Act II" type of stuff is supposed to be the darkest part for the main character blah blah blah. Hope you guys enjoyed this, leave any criticism and that in reviews or just PM me. Seeya in the next one!**


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